We were not aware at first that the whole had drawn anything unusual out of the sea.

We were all just standing around, watching with only mild interest as the armour the boat's

crane dragged their heaving net up and onto the deck, splashing the legs of the nearest

fisherman with a shower of sea waters it did so.

The net was steadily and mechanically drawn open, and the squirming, writhing fish within,

began to tumble from the side and out onto the floor as the fisherman backed up and away

to a higher deck.

The rain at the time was no more than a drizzle, but as I watched the fish spill out and over

the boat, iron on the less had to pull my hood a little tighter around my head, a feeble

defence as the wind blew it bitterly sideways and onto my face.

The weather, as it is now, is pretty typical of how it's been for the last few nights.

I turned to look around, tilting my face away from the direction of the rain.

I don't see much.

To give you an idea of our surroundings, try to picture a world of grey, dark and shadowy

clouds from horizon to horizon, cover the sky.

Through the horizons themselves are hidden behind rumbling, tumbling swirls and walls of

mist and fog.

The sea churns softly and steadily, frothing white against the hull of the troller, but grey

to greyish blue everywhere else.

The sea is all there is.

In the first couple of weeks we saw other boats occasionally, but we don't even see them

anymore.

...